Iris
by MasqueradingThroughLife
Summary: A vignette set to Iris by the Goo Goo Dolls. A rejected caress, and a whole lotta angst.


**Iris

* * *

**

**AN:** This is a sequel to my vignette/songphic called "Beautiful Disaster." It is set to "Iris" by the Goo Goo Dolls. More vignettes will be springing up sooner or later. Each one can be read by itself, but they flow rather well together.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own it. Boohoohoo.

* * *

A rushing quill scritch-scratched across sleek parchment, the usually juvenile handwriting incomprehensible in the frenzy to liberate the ideas warring for space within Erik's nonsensical and clever mind.

"Erik?"

His death's-head snapped up, four blank, hellish caverns meeting the face of an angel. Christine smiled a little uncertainly, for she could not see the love flooding his hidden eyes, though he was certain that she was aware of her poor old Erik's devotion.

"Good morning, _mon ange_," he said, a corpse speaking with a godling's voice.

"Is it morning then, Erik?" she asked, and her sweet, shy smile, so like a delicate slice of lemony sunlight, faded, and crumbled around the edges. "I never know what time it is down here, in the dreary dark..."

Erik felt a twinge within his broken heart. He arose from the organ bench, facing his beautiful songbird. "Why, has your watch come unwound? Silly Christine," he scolded lightly. "You must tell Erik whenever you need anything. He would go to the ends of the earth to fetch you strawberries out of season, or hot chocolate from the far away jungles of America."

A tiny, petal-pink smile twitched around the corners of her mouth. "Perhaps...we could go for a carriage ride tonight...?"

"To the bois?"

"Yes..." A single golden curl had fallen away from her loose bun...how he longed to...

_And I'd give up forever to touch you _

_'Cause I know that you feel me somehow _

"Yes! Yes, we will! Oh, Christine, you will have so much fun with Erik these next few days! He really is an entertaining fellow, and...Oh...I love you very much..." One hand, the yellow of aged parchment, nervously, and with infinite tenderness, tucked the stray lock back behind her ear, long, cold fingers brushing her cheekbone. She gasped, a tiny puff of breath, and pulled back.

"...Erik..." She blindly reached out for a moment. His hope soared, every fibre of his being pining for a kind touch.

_You're the closest to heaven that I'll ever be _

_And I don't want to go home right now _

"I...I feel ill," she whispered, snatching herself away. "I...do not think...that I'll be taking breakfast...excuse me." She hurried back towards her room.

"Of course, my dear." She closed the door. "I'm sorry."

* * *

_And all I can taste is this moment _

_And all I can breathe is your life _

Christine leaned against the door, one limp hand pressed to her forehead. "Oh God in heaven!" she moaned, sliding down to sit on the thick carpet, her bustle poking her in the waist. Erik's hand was there, in her mind's eye. Reaching out for her, caressing her skin...she blushed furiously. "What is the matter with me?" To think...Raoul had touched her in the same way, but _he _didn't stir these dismaying feeling within her fluttering heart.

_Raoul, Raoul. Just think of Raoul! _she commanded her rebellious senses. _Soon you'll be out of here, Erik will free you, you'll leave, never to come back. Never to come back. _Why did that sound...ominous?

_And sooner or later it's over _

_I just don't want to miss you tonight _

Ever since she'd first been spirited away, her life had been in such turmoil. Her Angel wasn't real; she'd been a half-wit to believe in such nonsense. Erik the man was so complicated. Half-insane, yet charming, respectful, tender, loving..._No! No! Raoul!_ Raoul had returned to her, a handsome, strapping man, yet still the boy who'd rescued her scarf, who'd kissed her on the lips and declared never to forget her...oh...Erik... brushing his twisted mouth against the hem of her skirt. How...morbid! _Yes, morbid...nothing else..._

"Why me, oh why me? I'm trapped...trapped!"

* * *

_One touch from Erik, and angels' souls cry out...I ruin everything...no one can love me_..._not my mother, not_ _my Christine...not myself..._

His blood was in the ink, his soul was in the music, his heart was captured within the palms of an heavensent girl..._Christine! _His love! She hated him. How could he have not seen?

_And I don't want the world to see me_

_'Cause I don't think that they'd understand _

Haunting violin music filled the damp underground air. The trapdoor-shutters far above shivered, gnarled hands sliding from their doors. The rat-catcher and his rats bowed their heads as one; the shade sighed, one stained boot kicking at a decaying corner of a catacomb wall.

_When everything's made to be broken _

_I just want you to know who I am

* * *

_

"Erik?" She edged nearer to him. He tossed away his violin carelessly, and she shuddered at the sickening thud the wood made.

"Christine!" He fell at her tiny, slippered feet, pressing her hem to his mouth.

_Business as usual._ She suppressed a sigh, feeling very tired. "Erik...I'm sorry I deserted you...earlier..."

"Oh, no, my Angel! The fault is mine!" he yawped. "To think that I would do something so beastly to you! Please, my Angel, forgive your foolish Erik. He is but an old man in love!"

She did sigh this time, eyes fluttering closed. She could not face his appearance this early...wait till noon, perhaps... "I forgive you, Erik."

"Oh, Christine!" He leapt to his feet, before bowing gallantly. "Thank you, my dear!" She smiled weakly. "I love you!" She stared for a moment.

_And you can't fight the tears that ain't coming _

_Or the moment of truth in your lies _

"Perhaps I have the stomach for...a little breakfast..." she murmured. His hollow eye sockets peered at her.

"Good, good."

To see a corpse wearing a pink apron (simply to make her laugh, she dearly hoped. Raoul was more the type for pink than Erik.), frying eggs, chattering and laughing with an odd "Aha, aha, aha!" was certainly a sight to behold.

"Apple tart, my Angel?" Erik asked, gesturing to a basket of pastries on the table. Christine felt a vague sense of unreality, and chewed on her lip to enssure that she was awake.

_When everything feels like the movies _

_Yeah, you bleed just to know you're alive_

"Yes. Thank you, Erik."

"Always, my darling."

* * *

They'd had simply lovely day, Erik reflected, other than that disheartening incident in the morning. He'd sung for her, they'd eaten a delicious lunch, had a marvelous music lesson, and a rather nice trip through the bois...but then that _boy_. The Vicomte! He'd been there! Erik felt cold horror seeping through his bones. And Christine's face as they'd driven away... 

_And I don't want the world to see me _

_'Cause I don't think that they'd understand_

"Good night, Christine." His yellow eyes glimmered in the dark of the hallway.

"Good night, Erik. Sleep well." The corners of her mouth crinkled in a obscured smile.

"I love you," he whispered softly.

A pause. "...Good night." She slipped into her room and shut the door.

_When everything's made to be broken _

_I just want you to know who I am _

"Oh, Christine..."

* * *

"_Papa! Papa!" she screamed, shaking Daddy Daae by the shoulders. He was still, too still. Not even a cough rattled his painfully thin frame. "Papa!" Mamma Valerius pulled her away._

"_It's all right, little dear, it's all right!" The woman pulled the shrieking child against her chest, cooing._

"_Papa! Papa! Papa!"_

"_Oh, little Christine...he's..."_

"_No! No, no, no, no! He can't be! Papa! Papa! _Papa, I need you!"

"Papa!"

_And I don't want the world to see me _

_'Cause I don't think that they'd understand _

She awoke, tangled in her blankets, nightgown sticking to her stricken form. Christine threw herself forward, falling awkwardly off of the bed.

"No, no, no, no. Not my papa!" The nightmares had faded in the years since her father's death, but still they stalked her sleep.

_When everything's made to be broken _

_I just want you to know who I am _

Her sleepy, panicked brain focused on only one thing. She needed Erik.

"Erik! _Erik!"

* * *

_

He was tossing and turning in his coffin when he heard her cry out..._for him._

_And I don't want the world to see me _

_'Cause I don't think that they'd understand _

For him! For Erik! He leapt to his feet, pulling on his dressing gown, and ran into her room.

"Christine...?" She was a huddled, miserable heap on the floor, surrounded by a pink swamp of covers. "Oh, my Angel!" He knelt by her, not quite daring to touch.

She peaked solemnly out through her tousled hair. "I...had a nightmare..."

_When everything's made to be broken _

_I just want you to know who I am_

"I'm here now, Angel."

"I know. I'm...glad..."

* * *

She did not know what she did. The only thought in her mind was that of Erik, as he tentatively grasped her shoulders, as he gently pulled her against him, as he rocked them both back and forth, crooning a mellifluous lullaby. 

_I just want you to know who I am_

_I just want you to know who I am _

_I just want you to know..._

Her heart thudded dully in her ears as she slipped her arms around his neck, never wanting to let go.

* * *

Christine was letting him embrace her! Erik was holding his angel! She pressed her face against his shoulder, and she let him hold her! It was heaven! Bliss! 

"I'm here, I'm here," he sang.

She pulled back to look into his eyes, which burned in the dark with a fierce love. Her hair was tangled in front of her wet eyes...he reached out, oh-so-carefully...to tuck the curls behind her ear...fingers touching tear-streaked skin...

_...who I am._

And she did not pull away.


End file.
